


Soft Focus For Full Appeal

by FascinationStreet



Series: Forget Yourself In Me [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Insecurity, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hank, Protective Hank, Seduction, Surveillance, Undercover, Vaginal Fingering, honeypot mission, robopuss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 16:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15489549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FascinationStreet/pseuds/FascinationStreet
Summary: “This sick fuck has a major plastic fetish, huh?” Leave it to Gavin. Stupid fuck.“Officers, I believe we may have just found our way in.” Hank is already turning towards Gavin to see his reaction when his brain process what Connor had actually said and he snaps his head back towards him, mouth falling open.“You’re not serious?”





	Soft Focus For Full Appeal

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I love you all pls enjoy these further Robopuss adventures. 
> 
> Takes place some indeterminate time after Too Busy Being Yours. 
> 
> As per this is for my good and lovely wife Rae for holding my hand through everything <3

Hank picks up the tray of coffees and carries them slowly into the meeting room to distribute between everyone. It’s hour four of one of the most intense strategy meetings he’d ever had to sit through and it’s nowhere near over.

The newest drug task force that had been commissioned after the revolution has been consulting with them occasionally. It’s partly because Hank and Connor brought in what turned out to be a vital informant, and because Hank was part of one of the first task forces, but he also suspects Fowler of wanting to keep them busy.

So here he is, pouring over file after file, photo after photo, statement after statement, looking for some kind of angle for the latest mission. They’ve got intel on what looks to be one of the key figures of the organisation, and they’ve just spent the last four hours scrapping every idea that’s come up so far for getting close enough to him to make an arrest.

Hank slides the tray onto the end of the table and transfers the mugs to the table in a lazy attempt to remember whose is whose. He places a steaming mug in front of Connor who smiles gratefully up at him, immediately wrapping his hands about it.

No one else had asked Connor if he wanted anything, which he supposes he understands, but it still gives him a kick to know that they’re questioning themselves right now. Connor likes to feel the warmth of the mug and have something to do with his hands, and Hank usually ends up drinking the coffee once it gets cool so it saves him an extra trip to the kitchen; it’s a win-win.

They collectively seem to decide that coffee time means a chance to rest their eyes and be quiet for five minutes, only vaguely pretending to poke at files.

As per usual, Reed takes the slightest opportunity to ruin something nice by opening his damn mouth.

“Shit look at this,” he crows, picking up a file to show the room a series of photos of their target leaving Gilded Dawn. Hank knows the Gilded Dawn, if only by reputation. Seriously up market, it makes the Eden Club look like a street corner on the shady side of town.

“This sick fuck has a major plastic fetish, huh?” Leave it to Gavin. Stupid fuck.

The comfortable silence they’d been enjoying becomes strained and awkward. Hank can see everyone shifting in their seats; they know no one is meant to talk like that about androids anymore, especially when there’s one in the room, but none of them want to be the ones to call him out on it.

Hank opens his mouth to rip him a new one in front of all their new task force buddies when Connor beats him to it.

“Officers, I believe we may have just found our way in.” Hank is already turning towards Gavin to see his reaction when his brain process what Connor had actually said and he snaps his head back towards him, mouth falling open.

“You’re not serious?” 

“If our target has a penchant for androids and often visits an android escort establishment then it would seem logical to exploit that and plant an agent in the club. This would give us someone to extract information from the target and find enough evidence of illegal activity for an arrest warrant. I naturally will volunteer for the role.”

He really must be getting on, Hank thinks, because obviously his ears aren’t as good as they used to be. He could have sworn he’d just heard Connor offer to pimp himself out to a drug dealer.

“What makes you think he’d go for you though, huh?” Reed sneers and Hank feels his blood pressure rise at the tone of his voice, “I hear you tin cans are all like Barbie dolls down there, unless Anderson really did turn you into a sex bot.”

“You know what Reed, fu-”

“Actually, Detective Reed, most male fantasies are not about the act of copulation itself but are rooted in a need to assert dominance,” Connor cuts in and saves him from getting kicked off the operation, though he’s not sure if he wouldn’t rather get them both pulled from it at this point. “Men often feel the need to possess or assert power over those they feel are weaker or are objects of their ardour. If I were to play innocent and naive I feel comfortable in predicting that he will see me as an object to control and conquer. He will feel the need to assert his dominance which will make him vulnerable to subtle manipulation, which may lead to him incriminating himself in the process.” 

Hank shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He knows the relationship he has with Connor isn’t like that, but he still has doubts sometimes about whether being so into taking a dominant role with Connor is some kind of abuse of power. Hearing Connor say that he’s going to use the need to control someone against them, the thought that Hank might not be that much better than one of those seedy fucks sits heavily in his gut.

It’s fine for the most part, Connor is more than enthusiastic about it and they’re equals in everything. Well, Connor is better than him at most things, but still, sometimes the scumbag parts of his brain bring up all of his doubts and makes him wallow in them for a while. Connor has told him on more than one occasion that it doesn’t matter what dynamic they enjoy in the bedroom (and on the couch, and the floor, and the dining table on a few occasions. It’s a good thing they don’t have anyone to invite over for dinner, is all Hank’s saying) as long as they’re both open and supportive of each other. He sounded like he was reading from some kind of article for sex dungeon freaks, but he still appreciates the sentiment when he’s having a bad day.

He sees Connor flash him a reassuring smile out of the corner of his eye, like he knows what Hank is thinking. He does know, is the thing; he knows exactly that Hank struggled with the perceptions people would have of him if they knew about their relationship, the idea that he could be taking advantage of Connor. Hank also knows that Connor would like him to trust that he is perfectly able to assess his own needs and desires for himself and that he wouldn’t be with Hank if it wasn’t what he wanted. He does trust him, just sometimes he doesn’t trust himself as much.

He gets pulled back from his mini morality crisis when he hears Connor say his name.

“Lieutenant Anderson can attest to my experience in this area; the information I was able to glean from Elijah Kamski proved to be of great use during the revolution.” Connor smiles sweetly and everyone in the room turns to look at Hank for confirmation. He nods dumbly at them, unsure of what exactly he can say.

Thinking about Kamski makes Hank feel even worse. The memory of the way he’d looked at Connor, practically undressing him and fucking him with his eyes. His fists clench involuntarily.

Hank doesn’t like Connor’s idea at all, but he has to admit that it’s a solid plan and they don’t have anything better after spending most of the day holed up in the meeting room. He hates the thought of Connor playing a dumb twink for the benefit of some drug lord scumbag but he knows Connor can handle himself more than admirably, especially in the field. 

He swallows down his nerves and discomfort and sits up straight, ready to work out the logistics of it. If they’re going to run with this plan then he’s going to make sure there’s absolutely no chance that anything can go wrong. He wants to know everything; how they get Connor in and out, how and where they’re setting up the surveillance equipment, where to station the entry team for the quickest response time without compromising the mission or Connor’s security. 

Connor slides over his mug of coffee and shoots him a small, private smile which Hank is helpless to return but then he turns back to his files. They have work to do. 

—-

The surveillance van is hot as Satan’s balls and Hank is not feeling it one bit. How is it that they’re living in a world with technology that can make hyper realistic androids and holograms and whatever the fuck, but they can’t make air con that can keep a van full of monitors and underpaid cops cool. Fuck hoverboards, this is what the future should be about. 

He’s squeezed on a tiny uncomfortable seat and his entire side is pressed against Gavin fuckin’ Reed and he’s on edge because his boy is about to put his ass on the line, quite literally, for this mission. 

The team have collectively and individually poured over the plans again and again, ironing out potential problems before they come up until it should be smooth sailing all the way to an arrest. In theory, anyway. Hank doesn’t like leaving things to chance. 

Their target has yet to show so Connor is still waiting in the dressing rooms away from the main floor until he gets Hank’s signal to come out. Connor had tried to argue that it would look more realistic if he’d been walking the floor the whole time but that’s a stupid ass idea and Hank had told him that in no uncertain terms. He’s not risking Connor being propositioned and felt up by some rich asshole before he even spots the target. 

Hank hasn’t seen Connor since that morning when he’d given him a ride over to the club for the last walkthrough and then left him to his own preparations, whatever that meant. It puts him on edge, he doesn’t like any of this even without being able to keep an eye on Connor. 

The club looks fancy as shit, enough that he thinks maybe they need to be dressed up just to watch the clientele, let alone arrest some of them. It’s favoured by the kind of rich dickheads who want to fuck an android without having to pay for a walking talking sex doll. 

Gilded Dawn is all about ‘ _ the experience’,  _ according to their marketing. He adds the air quotes in his mind. Turns out all that means is that if you have enough money you can pay anyone to pretend they want to fuck you. People go there to seduce or be seduced and the androids know exactly how to play the game. Hank has to hand it to them, they’re making a mint. 

The owner wasn’t happy about them running any kind of operation in their establishment, something about protecting clients’ confidentiality. Turns out though that customer satisfaction actually means that they’re taking a cut of the dealer’s money in return for providing them a safe place to make exchanges. Funny that. 

It took a few polite threats of being shut down and arrested for being an accessory to several crimes until the owner gave up the fake name the dealers booked their suite under. Their room was what should have been a honeymoon suite if the club was a hotel, and Hank had had to roll his eyes at the irony of it when they’d gone in to set up surveillance. 

Reed nudges him and points to one of the screens; their target is at the bar. Hank sends a text to Connor to let him know that they’re good to go while Gavin radios the first response team to put them on standby.

Hank scans the crowd across the wall of monitors in from of him and sees an unmistakable figure heading towards the bar. Connor’s wearing tight, tight black trousers that sit dangerously low on his hips and some kind of mesh panelled tank top… thing with blue accents, of course. He hears the comm link in his ear crackle for a second before ambient noise floods through the channel. 

Connor reaches the bar and sits himself on one of the stools next to their target and waits. Hank regrets choosing that particular moment to take a mouthful of his coffee, because he chokes on it when he sees that the back of Connor’s outfit plunges straight down almost to the dip of his spine. It reminds him a little too much of the outfits Kamski’s Chloe bots were dressed in, and he’s sure the resemblance has not escaped Connor either.

Their target turns to hail a bartender and it’s easy to see when he catches sight of Connor, trying to disguise his double take as him cracking his neck and stretching out his shoulders. He doesn’t blame the guy, Connor is gorgeous. He’s literally designed to be that way, but it’s not just that which does it for Hank. It sounds soppy as fuck even in his head, but there’s been more than one occasion where he’s been distracted by the curve of Connor’s shoulders and the grace of his neck, the swell of his hips, the way he steals Hank’s sweaters and then curls the sleeves around his hands. 

It’s the little details of him that make him Connor that Hank loves, not just his dumb face or that stupid, terrible curl in his hair. It’s the things that people overlook when the see him, as soon as they notice the LED in his temple.

“Good evening,” Connor says, and Hank realises he’s missed their man making his move. For someone who wants this operation to go well he’s developing a shitty habit of zoning out when it matters.

“I haven’t seen you here before. What’s a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this?” He grins, turning up the charm. Hank rolls his eyes, some lines just never die. 

Instead of telling him to get lost, Connor laughs demurely, what the fuck. They’re here for a reason, sure, but he doesn’t deserve to get Connor looking at him like that. 

“I haven’t been here before, it’s my first time.” He bites his lip after he says it, and even from here Hank can see the sky blue blush dusting his cheeks. Where the  _ fuck _ has this side of him come from?

“And what exactly brought you here?” Their guy beckons over the bartender and orders a drink with a few gestures. 

Connor’s blush grows brighter and he looks down, bashful, a hand coming up to rest in his neck. He looks the picture of a virgin looking to get fucked seven ways from Sunday and their target looks more than happy to oblige. 

“Come on” he prompts, “you must be here for a reason. You can’t have just be people watching, waiting for someone to show up and talk to you.” He grins and cocks a hip to lean against the bar, turning to face connor properly.

The bartender returns, something on the rocks for the douchebag and something blue for Connor. The fact that Connor takes a sip of it makes him think it’s some kind of Thirium-based drink for androids. It would make sense in an android escort club, at least.

Connor flashes his a small smile in thanks and looks at him through his eyelashes. 

“People watching is very enjoyable, I find.” Connor’s voice is like nothing Hank has ever heard coming out of his mouth before, breathy and smooth like whiskey. His fingers trace the rim of the glass, soft and graceful. Hank’s mouth is dry. 

“Oh is that so? You any good at it?” He takes a long pull from his drink, and Connor’s eyes follow the movement of his throat as he swallows. 

“I’m okay,” Connor shrugs, playing modest. He looks away again, lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. 

The target smirks, and casts his eyes around the room.

“What’s her deal, then?” He asks, nodding his head towards a woman in a plunging red dress at a standing table on her own. Connor observes her for a few seconds, his fingers playing absently with the neckline of his shirt, drawing attention to his clavicle.

“She’s cheating on her partner, or at least thinking about it,” Connor decides, looking back to the guy with a small smile of triumph.

“And how’d you figure that?” He takes another drink.

“She’s standing alone in a room full of available partners wearing a new and somewhat expensive dress. She keeps looking at her phone but she’s not waiting for anyone, possibly ignoring texts from her partner, and,” he pauses, to ensure he has the target’s attention, “she has a white patch on her finger from the wedding ring she’s removed, but she’s wearing it on the other hand. She hasn’t decided if she’s going to go through with it yet.” 

“Very impressive,” the target says before he moves in close to Connor. He looks like he’s going to go for a kiss, not looking away from Connor’s lips, until the last second when he points at someone over Connor’s shoulder. When Connor turns to look, he practically covers Connor’s back with his body.

Hank is not enjoying this in the slightest.

“Now him, in the grey suit.”

When Hank looks at the new subject of investigation, he gets a bad feeling for the direction of their conversation. The guy looks like he’s got enough money to be there but like he’d be more comfortable in a sticky-floored strip joint, the way he seems to be collecting escorts on his arm and throwing his money around. As much as Hank hates to say it, he’s ruining the atmosphere of the club; he has the kind of presence that can ruin anything, and they can’t afford to lose the target.

Connor frowns, “hmm, I don’t like him. Give me someone else.” Hank holds his breath, waiting to see if Connor’s deflection has worked.

The guy grins again. He looks like a fucking shark and god, Hank hates him so much.

“Ok then hot stuff, tell me what you see when you look at me.” He stands up straight, inviting Connor to study him closely. Hank watches him flex slightly, in all the right places and he feels his lips trying to pull back into a sneer. Fuckin’ asshole.

Connor smiles shyly and gives him a once over. 

“You have a room in the hotel above, and you’re here alone. I think you’re bored, and you would like some company.” Connor’s voice is softer, submissive. He’d almost sound innocent if he hadn’t just told a stranger to invite him up to his room. His voice makes something stir in Hank’s stomach and he can’t tell if it’s arousal or aversion. This is so fucking weird. 

“The room  _ is  _ awfully big for just me,” his voice drops to match Connor’s, assertive where Connor’s was reserved, “it would be a shame to waste it. It has breathtaking views.”

Connor picks up his drink again, holding the targets eyes while he drinks slowly through the straw.

God, Hank is so uncomfortable right now. Connor is fucking hot, he’s absolutely smoking and Hank would be a liar if he said he didn’t want to pull Connor out of there right now and bend him over the nearest flat surface, but at the same time it’s not  _ his _ Connor. 

Connor isn’t this slick seductor, he’s not a honey pot or some kind of reverse James Bond. Connor is a dumbass who has full length conversations with Sumo and pauses when he asks questions as if the dog is going to answer him, who bribes Hank into eating salads with kisses. He’s sexy as hell, Hank thinks, but Hank likes him much better when he’s dressed in Hank’s sweater and so eager for him that Hank barely ever has enough time to get even half naked before Connor’s on him. He likes him better when he’s trying to work out the logistics of whatever new thing he wants to try so that Hank’s back doesn’t seize up or his knees don’t complain.

He watches as the target downs the rest of his drink and offers Connor his hand, palm up and inviting. The prick hasn’t even bothered to ask for Connor’s name. He knows it’s not real and they’re here to take this guy down so none of this really matters, but fuck, he hates him. He’s only after one thing, he doesn't give a fuck about anyone or anything else.

Connor plays coy, like he’s not sure if he should do it. He looks down, bites his lip and frowns. The asshole doesn’t seem to be discouraged though, merely moving his hand to Connor’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the jut of it.

“I don’t even know your name,” Connor protests, looking up at the guy with big brown eyes. Fucking hell he’s good.

He leans in and whispers it into Connor’s ear, which means he’s whispering into everyone’s ear. Hank feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end in revulsion.

He pulls away slowly, eyes watching Connor’s face intently, never leaving his lips for more than a few seconds. This time, when he offers Connor his hand, Connor accepts it and allows him to pull him up off the barstool and steer him towards the staircase.

Hank clenches his fists so hard watching them in the room alone together that he feels the bones in his hands creak and he has to force himself to relax. Nothing is going to go wrong, and Connor isn’t doing anything that he doesn’t want to do. If that scumbag tries anything slimy with him he knows that all he has to do is give the signal and Hank will pull him out faster than he can say ‘extraction’.

The target leds Connor over to a plush couch in his suite and pours himself a glass of champagne. He offers to order another drink for Connor, who declines. 

“You’re right,” he says, draping himself over the couch and crossing his legs, “your room is very large for just one person.” His calf is pressed against the target’s leg.

“I must have known I’d find you to keep me company.” His grin is so smarmy that Hank has to take a deep breath.

“What exactly do you have in mind?” Connor fiddles with the neck of his shirt again, distracting and alluring all at once.

“Well,” the guy breathes, leaning in slightly to ghost the backs of his fingers over Connor’s cheek and jaw, “there’s a little business I gotta take care of then I’m all yours babe.” 

Hank bristles at the way he says babe, breathing hard again.

“Business?” Connor frowns, and actually pouts a little at him. Christ alive, Hank isn’t going to make it through this without some serious restraint.

“I came here for a meeting, but then I saw you and got distracted,” he leers, looking at Connor like he’s a three-course meal.

He leans into Connor, looking at his lips and moving in for the kill. It’s just a mission, he reminds himself, he knows Connor has no intention of sleeping with this guy but he just can’t stand to see some piece of shit who isn’t good enough to shine Connor’s shoes with his hands all over him. He’s always been a little selfish; being an only child will do that to you. 

It’s not that he thinks Connor belongs to him, Connor is his own person who is more than able to make his own choices, but Hank has never been good at sharing.

The target goes in for the kiss and he has to look away for a second before he forces himself to watch. He cups Connor’s jaw, controlling rather than caring, and startles a little when there’s a knock on the door.

He stays close to Connor for a second before he sighs and gives him another quick kiss and stands up.

“Don’t you move a muscle, beautiful, I’ll be right back,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks into the entryway around the corner from the lounge area of the suite. Hank flashes back to the last time he tied Connor up, intricate knots and loops all over his body, and told him not to move. He’s good at being patient when he wants to be.

They can only just make out the conversation down the hall but it’s clearly an exchange of something.Their surveillance doesn’t quite cover what’s going down and without clear sound, it’s useless as evidence.

Connor is obviously thinking along the same lines as Hank though, because he stands up and creeps close to the wall to peer around the corner. The floorboards creak as he leans over and Hank swears he feels his heart stop beating for a second when he sees them turn to look at Connor.

He stands up and shuffles towards them, head hanging and looking embarrassed at being caught. Fuck, he better know what he’s doing here, things could go south before they have a chance to get to him.

The newcomer shoots a look at their target and motions to Connor with a gesture that clearly demands to know what the fuck is going on.

“I got bored,” Connor says, shifting uncomfortably. He doesn’t look away from the men but from the looks of it he’s got a clear view of whatever is going down between them which is all they need.

Reed jumps out of his seat and his hand goes to his holster, ready to bust in and take them both down now that they’ve got eyes on the deal, but Hank grabs his arm and pulls him none too gently back down. As much as he’d like to go in right now and not a second later, Connor hasn’t given them the signal and Hank trusts him to know what he’s doing. He lets Gavin’s arm go when he yanks it away, huffing loudly.

Hank misses what’s said next, something about the target not being able to wait until after their meeting to get his dick wet. When he looks back at the screen Connor is being herded back into the room.

“I’ll be back in a minute okay, beautiful? Just wait here,” he promises, placating Connor with another kiss and pushing him down onto the couch

Hank’s phone buzzes with the signal from Connor to move in. Fucking finally.

He radios the strike team and tells them to get into position as he pushes Reed out of the van ahead of him, not prepared to waste a single second getting Connor out of there. The door caves easy when faced with the battering ram and they swarm inside, guns drawn. 

They’re obviously not expecting any kind of intrusion, drugs and money both out in the open and too slow to pull out any guns before they’re being forced down onto their knees, hands behind their heads. Hank reads the target his rights and takes great pleasure in being a little rougher than strictly necessary when the guy tries to buck him off. 

Once he’s handed him over to one of the squad to be watched he turns and sees Connor watching him with a satisfied little smile. Hank feels himself responding to it, helpless to stop himself from going to him. He holds him at arms length for a minute, looking him over for anything out of place. It’s not necessary, he watched everything that happened and he knows Connor isn’t hurt, but he does it anyway. Connor allows him to give him the once over without a protest, still smiling.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back once he’s satisfied with his findings.

“Perfectly fine, thank you Lieutenant.” The smoky-sweet voice he’d put on with the target is finally gone, and he sounds like Connor again, the real Connor.

“Your dumb plan actually worked.”

“My ‘dumb plan’ was excellent,” Connor smiles, “though I am feeling a little underdressed now.” 

He covers his arms and Hank is already slipping off his overcoat to drape over Connor’s shoulders, who smiles wider in gratitude.

“Bit warm in here anyway,” Hank says, and leads them outside to load their arrests into the waiting police van.

On the drive back Connor pulls Hank’s jacket close around himself, even though Hank knows he doesn’t feel the cold the same way he does.

“Where’d you get that anyway?” Hank asks, disturbing the comfortable silence in the car.

“Get what?” 

“That outfit?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road but nods to Connor’s current state of dress.

“Don’t you like it Hank?” Oh, he’s a little shit. Hank scowls. He knows damn well how how he feels about Connor in sheer lingerie, just maybe not in the middle of an android sex club or in the station. 

Well, maybe in the station. Just not where anyone could see in on Connor but him. He puts that thought aside for later.

“The club had an extensive range of clothing for their workers, I tried to choose something practical but that fit the aesthetic of the environment. I took inspiration from the Chloe models living with Kamski,” Hank grips the steering wheel with white knuckles as Connor speaks, “they seemed to combine the sophistication of more formal wear while still retaining allure.”

Jesus on a fucking bike, Hank already regrets asking.

The first thing Connor does when they get back to the station is to change back into his regular clothes and Hank can breathe a sigh of relief when Connor hands him back his coat with a small, sweet smile. 

It’s been a hell of a night, but they still have to finish the initial paperwork and process their two arrests before they can go home. He wants a drink, he wants to sleep for twelve hours straight, he wants to tie Connor to the bed so he knows exactly where he is. He’s not sure which order he wants to do those things in.

Connor sits at his desk happily typing his report and uploading the footage he’d captured from his CPU to the system as evidence, oblivious to the fact that Hank can’t keep his eyes off him for more than a few seconds at a time. The difference between the Connor in the club and the Connor in front of him is killing him. He’s never seen that side of Connor, never seen him smooth and silver tongued, playing the game like a pro. Hell, the first time they’d slept together for real Connor had thanked him for his simulated orgasm. 

It takes Connor an hour of working to finish his report and find something else to do, which is apparently bringing Hank a cup of coffee. 

He sits on the corner of Hank’s desk, legs dangling over the edge and swinging slightly as he settles. Hank leans back and accepts the steaming mug, glad of a distraction from staring at his own report. It’s like any other time they’ve been at the station late, Connor keeping him company while he finishes up, but Hank is normally composed, unaffected by his presence.

This time, Hank has to touch him, some kind of need to assert his ability to touch Connor, to know that Connor welcomes it. He rests his wrist over Connor’s knee as he drinks the coffee and listens to Connor chattering about what he thinks Hank should eat when they get home. His fingers dangle loosely over his leg, brushing the inside of Connor’s thigh.

He lets his fingers trail lightly over the material of his pants, an absent side to side motion, something that can be passed off as idle fidgeting. There aren’t many people left in the office when he casts a quick glance around the room, and the majority of them are blocked by Hank’s monitor.

There’s every chance that someone will walk past and see Hank’s hands on Connor, but he lets himself trail his fingers higher up his leg, grunting and nodding in agreement with Connor’s monologue about the restorative properties of salmon and energy-boosting Omega-3 oils. It’s not even intended to be a tease or to even start anything that they’ll have to go elsewhere to finish, he just can’t seem to stop touching Connor now that he’s started doing it. Like he wants to know that his is the last touch Connor felt, not that piece of shit dealer’s hands.

“Hey,” Hank says suddenly overcome by the need to get out of the office for five minutes, “I need a file from the evidence locker from the first case we had involving the drug ring, come and help me find it?”

He stands up, chair rolling away from the desk, and Connor frowns at him.

“I have the digitised files on my computer, what d-”

“It wasn’t digitised, come with me.” Hank tries to make it obvious to Connor without making it obvious to everyone else, which isn’t always an easy thing.

Connor thankfully stands up and waits for Hank to lead the way.

He leads them to one of the older evidence archives in the station, one that he doesn’t think has been used since before he made Lieutenant, and holds the door as Connor walks in ahead of him.

Hank isn’t sure what possessed him to do this here, unable to wait until they get home, but he finds himself crowding up behind Connor and pushing him into the nearest wall. 

“That shitbag is going away for a long time,” he growls into Connor’s ear, hands sneaking around his waist to hold him close.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I suspect he will be convicted on at least three counts of possession with intent to distribute, racketeering, and solicitation. He most likely will not be released until old age. Even with a suspended sentence.”

“Fuckin’ hated seein’ that creep’s hands all over you,” he finds Connor’s zip and pulls it down slowly, sliding his hands under the waistband of his pants to pick at the clips of his shirt stays. Connor leans his head back onto Hank’s shoulder and lets him do whatever he needs to do to satisfy himself.

“It was for a good reason, though. We’ve made significant progress in dismantling one of the biggest drug rings in operation in the Detroit area.” Hank’s hands circle Connor’s waist under his shirt. He growls again, like he’s some kind of fuckin’ territorial dog.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Connor turns into him and hides a smile in the side of his face; Hank can feel the curve of his lips against his skin and it drives him crazy. Like he said, he’s never been nice at playing with the other kids.

“Where did he touch you?” Hank needs to know, he needs to get rid of the smell of that bastard’s ugly cologne.

Connor’s smile gets wider, and he nuzzles slightly into Hank’s hair. He’s loving this, the little shit.

“You were watching the surveillance footage the whole time, Lieutenant. You saw everywhere he touched me, every instance of physical contact.” Oh he is  _ such  _ a little shit.

“Where, Con,” he grits out, hands tightening over his hips.

Connor reaches under his shirt to loosely grip Hank’s wrists and pulls them out from underneath the material. His grip on his wrists isn’t strong, but he knows he’ll go wherever he wants him.

He brings one of Hank’s hands to his cheek and leans into it gently. “Here.”

He moves the other to his neck. “Here.”

The first hand is pulled to the curve of his waist. “Here.”

Connor keeps going until he’s placed Hank’s hands on every part of his body that that dirtbag touched.

When he pulls his wrists out of his grip to wrap them around his waist again there’s no resistance, and Hank pulls him in tight against his chest.

“You’re mine, Connor,” he whispers into the skin of his neck, sucking a kiss that will never leave a mark on Connor’s perfect skin but that he knows that he can feel.

“Whose are you?”

“Yours.” Connor sounds satisfied, like the cat who got the fucking cream, and Hank leans into him so that his chest and face are pressed into the wall.

“That’s right.” His hands slip back onto into his pants and below the waistband of his underwear, “you’re mine.” He cups the flat of his hand around Connor’s mound and holds him tight so that Connor can feel the pressure against him.

“I’m yours, Hank. All yours,” the gasp he lets out when Hank’s hand drops low enough to slip two fingers into him is one of the best things he’s ever heard.

Hank really leans into Connor, trapping his entire upper body between himself and the wall as he fucks him slowly on his fingers, the way he knows Connor likes to feel pinned.

His keeps his fingers slow and smooth, letting Connor feel the drag of them as he crooks them on the way out. He adds another finger when Connor starts whining, and rests his thumb over his clit so that it moves every time he fucks into his pussy.

Connor has one hand scrabbling against the wall for something to hold onto when Hank speeds his hand up, and the other gripping Hank’s left arm where it’s wrapped around his waist to keep his hips away from the wall. The angle is murder on his wrist put he keeps them going, feeling Connor get wetter and wetter.

“You looked so good in the club, Connor,” he says, voice low and rough in Connor’s ear, no more than a whisper, “all dressed up like a slut. Reed couldn’t take his eyes off you, probably jerkin’ himself off right now thinking about how good you’d look in his bed.”

Connor pants, the fans inside his chest cavity kicking in. He loves hearing Hank talk, and it’s fortunate, because there are times Hank just can’t stop himself.

“Wonder what everyone would think if they knew what I do.”

Connor gasps, either from the idea of the whole station knowing how sweet and good he can be for Hank or from the way Hank’s fingers move inside him.

“Thay what you want?” His mouth is pressed against Connor’s ear, and he speeds his thumb up over Connor’s clit.

He whines, trying to curl in on himself at how good it feels but Hank won’t let him. He’s not a big talker when they’re like this, but god it’s so much better when he goes along with it.

“That what you want, huh? You want everyone to know what I do, ‘bout what a good boy you are?” His wrist is cramping but Connor is so close. “Say it Connor, what do you want?”

“I want to come, Hank. Please, I need it.”

“Yeah I got you baby, I got you. I’ll look after you.” He kisses Connor’s temple and holds him tighter as he speeds up his hand yet again, the wet noises of them obscene in the otherwise silent room.

“No one knows how to make you feel as good as I do, right babe?”

Connor hisses and Hank feels him fucking down onto his hand, so close it must be hurting him. He considers drawing it out a little longer, making it even sweeter but anyone could walk in on them, and Connor has done such a good job tonight.

He takes mercy on him, crooking his fingers and finding the perfect spot, holding him close as he pants and moans into the wall, movements jerky and uncoordinated as he comes hard around Hank’s hand.

Hank kisses Connor’s head and neck and cheek while his fans whir, working hard as they attempt to regulate his tempterature.

“Good boy,” he murmurs into Connor’s hair, so proud, “good, so good for me always.”

Connor whines his name and presses back into him, craving Hank’s touch. He pulls his hand out of Connor’s pants and eases back a little, allowing him to turn in the circle of his arms. He tilts his head down to kiss Connor, wrapping his arms around him again and letting Connor take what he needs from him until he’d calmed down.

Hank’s half hard in his pants, has been since he shoved Connor against the wall. He’s tired, still on edge from the sting and the arrest, so he’s not overly concerned about it. It’s not the first time he’s not been up for anything more than making sure Connor gets off, and it won’t be the last. This isn’t about him, not really.

He’s happy to wait until they get home and relax a bit, until they have enough time for Hank to properly get rid of the stink of their target from Connor’s skin, to kiss and bite every place he laid his dirty hands on him until all Connor can feel is him and how much he loves him.


End file.
